Doswell blogger Dale Brumfield once again proved the naysayers wrong by turning the car around and driving in reverse up Route 301 from Enfield to Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina when returning from Hilton Head this past Saturday.
“I don’t recall exactly how that bet came up,” says Brumfield, his neck aching from looking out the rear window the entire 21 miles as he stood in front of the Cracker Barrel just off Route 158 in Roanoke Rapids, “But one of the kids commented that I couldn’t even back the car out of the driveway. One argument led to another, and before you could say ‘diminished capacity’ I was turned around and beating it down Route 301 at around 30 MPH backward. You should have seen the looks on their faces!”
“I have a whole new respect for dad’s driving abilities,” says shaken son Hunter as he sat on the curb, trying to keep from vomiting. “I thought we bought it in this town called Halifax – Dad swerved sharply and I heard lots of car horns going through a triple intersection. He tried to laugh it off, but I could see giants sweat beads on his upper lip.”
Brumfield recalled the incident in question with a shudder. “I had trouble seeing the stoplight. OK, I didn’t even know there was a stoplight, or a train crossing. I hope that guy in the Toyota pickup is all right.”
Daughter Hollis was more direct with her assessment of her dad’s driving stunt. “Dad’s an idiot.” She said bluntly. “I’m watching him – first sign of drool he is so admitted to the nursing home. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
Comatose son Jake and wife Susan refused to get out of the car and comment on the episode. “They’ll be all right,” Brumfield said as he pecked on the window, trying to get Susan to unlock the car and let him back in. “It’s common after a refreshing experience like that to be, I don’t know, a little introspective.”
But the trick was ultimately on Brumfield, as he came out of the Cracker Barrel bathroom and saw his family was gone, with a note taped on the parking meter. “It’s only a 4-hour ride to Richmond from here.” He said as he stood in line at the ticket window at the closest Greyhound station, a good 7-mile walk from the Cracker Barrel. “I’ve always enjoyed a good bus ride. Looks like I missed the 12:15 – the next bus leaves at 10:10, and gets me into Richmond at 2:25 am. Well, looks like I got about 9 hours to kill! Can I borrow $43 for the ticket? My wallet’s in the car.”
“I don’t recall exactly how that bet came up,” says Brumfield, his neck aching from looking out the rear window the entire 21 miles as he stood in front of the Cracker Barrel just off Route 158 in Roanoke Rapids, “But one of the kids commented that I couldn’t even back the car out of the driveway. One argument led to another, and before you could say ‘diminished capacity’ I was turned around and beating it down Route 301 at around 30 MPH backward. You should have seen the looks on their faces!”
“I have a whole new respect for dad’s driving abilities,” says shaken son Hunter as he sat on the curb, trying to keep from vomiting. “I thought we bought it in this town called Halifax – Dad swerved sharply and I heard lots of car horns going through a triple intersection. He tried to laugh it off, but I could see giants sweat beads on his upper lip.”
Brumfield recalled the incident in question with a shudder. “I had trouble seeing the stoplight. OK, I didn’t even know there was a stoplight, or a train crossing. I hope that guy in the Toyota pickup is all right.”
Daughter Hollis was more direct with her assessment of her dad’s driving stunt. “Dad’s an idiot.” She said bluntly. “I’m watching him – first sign of drool he is so admitted to the nursing home. I’ve never been so terrified in my life.”
Comatose son Jake and wife Susan refused to get out of the car and comment on the episode. “They’ll be all right,” Brumfield said as he pecked on the window, trying to get Susan to unlock the car and let him back in. “It’s common after a refreshing experience like that to be, I don’t know, a little introspective.”
But the trick was ultimately on Brumfield, as he came out of the Cracker Barrel bathroom and saw his family was gone, with a note taped on the parking meter. “It’s only a 4-hour ride to Richmond from here.” He said as he stood in line at the ticket window at the closest Greyhound station, a good 7-mile walk from the Cracker Barrel. “I’ve always enjoyed a good bus ride. Looks like I missed the 12:15 – the next bus leaves at 10:10, and gets me into Richmond at 2:25 am. Well, looks like I got about 9 hours to kill! Can I borrow $43 for the ticket? My wallet’s in the car.”
